Musings While Lost or Imladris Is Hard To Find
by CraZYdUCKIE
Summary: Boromir goes to Imladris for a dream- and spends most of the trip hating himself for it. Read as he is tormented by his horse and the Man-hating wilds of Eriador. Who knew that Rangers were so untidy? NOW WITH SEQUEL!
1. Week 1

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 1**

Day 1

Since I've been wandering the wilderness for weeks now, I thought I'd start organising my usual rambling internal monologue into a log, a mental journal of sorts that I will use to remember the events of each day in a condensed form. All too often, an over-busy day will blur together and I will forget some important task I have been assigned- no more! I will be more organised!

Today, I continued to walk purposely towards Imladris, which according to my calculations has been moving around with surprising speed for a settled community.

Note to self- get better directions when next travelling halfway across the continent for a dream.

Note to self- request that Elrond invent neon lighting and place well-lit trail from Minas Tirith to Imladris.

Note to self- bring deck of cards next quest.

Day 2

Was standing by river, wishing for GPS, and horse pushed me in. Have decided that horse is evil and must be destroyed once I reach Imladris.

Note to self- bring wetsuit next quest

Day 3

Spent yesterday working out where I was- concluded that way to Imladris was past river. Dragged horse across a ford- horse tried to drown me, again- am once again wet. Am developing odd rash on legs from walking in wet clothes.

Note to self- find kingsfoil to make paste for rash

Day 4

Horse knocked me over again - cunningly disguised as a stumble, but I know what he's up to. Rash v. itchy today.

Note to self- do not confuse kingsfoil with maresbreath, that identical plant I'm allergic to

Day 5

Lost again. Found a rabbit caught in a hunter's trap. Rabbit scubbo surprisingly good. Horse kicked me, am now developing bruise on leg. Rash v. painful

Note to self- find kingsfoil to treat maresbreath rash

Day 6

Have moved away from crumbly ground near river- can finally ride horse. Horse has developed penchant for riding at speed under low-lying branches- fell off horse and hit head. Have decided to walk back to Gondor after Imladris.

Day 7

Rash finally healed- bruise on head still v. painful. Discovered small village- been walking in the wrong direction. This v. bad news- must cross river again. Have decided to stop remembering each day, as will inevitably kill horse & be forced to carry bags to Imladris.


	2. Week 2

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 2**

Day 8

Has started raining. Feels like the Valar are pissing on me and laughing. Am riding horse once more- have attached rope around its neck so that it gets pulled over when I fall off- evil horse is finally behaved. Shitty weather but feel v. clever. Maybe will finally reach Imladris?

Day 9

Rain is stupid. Horse v. stupid. River is too flooded to cross, due to rain. Horse pushed me in- but still had my rope and dragged horse in with me. After 200m of whitewash and rocks, river bent and we landed on the shore. Still on wrong side of river.

Note to self- when weather is better, kill horse

Day 10

Spent day walking along bank of river. Still raining. Wish that umbrellas existed. Horse tried to push me in twice, so now walk on other side of horse.

Day 11

Tried to push horse into river. Fell in instead. Horse dragged in with me, tumbled in the floodwater and ended up on the other bank- success! Horse bit my arm in retribution and am now bruised and soaked to the skin. Still raining- can find no dry firewood anymore. V. cold. Think I will stagger on through the night rather than risk hypothermia.

Day 12

Still raining. Still v. cold. Still walking towards Imladris? Horse kicked me twice and bit me once, but no retaliation on my part. Too cold to be angry at demon horse. Remembering from childhood tales of a Haradhrim that slit open his camel to stay warm. Or was it to keep safe from a sandstorm? I don't remember. Find myself wondering whether horse is big enough to keep me warm. Must have a disturbing expression, for horse now walks with quite a gap between us. Oh, well- cutting him open wouldn't really help me anyway, unless I climbed in or something. Hey look, a cave!

Day 13

Well, at least the bear's gone now. I have no idea why it was in this cave, or indeed why there was a bear nearby to Imladris, as I (hopefully) am- if I'm still going in the wrong direction, some violence will be committed against the next person I encounter. I made the demon horse sleep at the mouth of the cave, so the heat should stay trapped in when I make a fire from the convenient dry wood in the back of this convenient cave. Ah, there we go… It's even stopped raining, so with this cozy fire I can actually get warm and dry for the first time in what seems like forever…

Oh, shit. The bear's back.

Day 14

After spending most of the day v. high up a v. large tree, I can't help but feel a little jaded. The rain has stopped, finally- leaving the freezing wind to dry my wet clothes but also the sap this wretched tree covered me with during my climb, so I am now stuck to the tree. The demon horse has bolted, though it should soon be back to dole out its regular dose of violence upon my person. The bear at the bottom of the tree will have to leave first, though.

Somewhere, somebody is laughing at me. It's not a nice kind of laughter.


	3. Week 3

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 3**

Day 15

Spent most of today enduring a forced waxing of my arm hair as I ripped myself off the tree- with my sap-stained clothing, unwashed and uncombed hair, and skin that varies between angry red, hairless or covered in bark, I must make quite a sight. Demon horse has faithfully returned, though I maintain it is to further torment me for as I was easing myself from the lowest branch onto his saddle, he intentionally shifted to the left so that I fell down. Bastard.

Maybe I'll go be a hermit somewhere. V. underrated, hermits- they must live the kind of peaceful, non-bear/demon horse-affected lives that I envy right now.

Day 16

Today… nothing actually happened. There were no bears, floods, sudden rainstorms, forced tree climbing events or, Valar forbid, unfortunate lightning strikes. I _do_ have quite a number of bruises, cuts, scrapes and teeth marks, as well as a multitude of injuries inflicted by beings other than my horse. They ache almost unbearably but, as the demon horse has restrained itself recently, are manageable because I am _finally_ on my way to Imladris where I can happily kill the equine bastard.

Day 17

Once again, my luck was too good to last; the demon horse was just waiting for an opportunity. We had just ridden to the top of a hill when, while I paused to take stock of the situation, he launched himself at a low-lying branch. This sent me tumbling down the hill, head over heels, with me managing to slam my knee into my nose as I stopped at the bottom. I looked up the slope, blood streaming from my nose, leaves in my hair and dirt through my clothes, and I cursed that damned horse with every insult I knew, as well as a few I invented on the spot. And then the bastard laughed at me! I glared and, ignoring my nose which was gushing like the falls of Rauros, I stomped back up. Pulling myself onto the saddle with somewhat more force than necessary, demon horse still whinnying in amusement, I nudged the animal into movement once more. Of course, my nose was still broken, but at that point it was the least of my worries.

Day 18

I have reset my nose, but it still hurts like a bitch and I'm fairly certain that I won't be rubbing it anytime soon. This may, however, be a plus, as we have entered marshlands and their typically awful rotting scent is one I have always despised. The horse has been frustrated by this path, for I found a road- a good, solid road- that is wide enough for me to resist any attempt to dump me in the rancid marshes. I must confess a perverse enjoyment in the horse's unhappiness, for the demon had taunted me for far too long and now I was finally safe from his evil.

Day 19

Upon examination of the road, I believe it may lead much of the way back to Minas Tirith. Hmm… Yes, it heads in that general direction and appears to keep away from the constant hills and rivers that have plagued my path so far.

I really don't know what to do with this information.

I could have avoided all the pain, cold and effort. I could have _walked_ most of the way.

If I ever meet that bloody farmer again… I… I… I will do something really, really awful to him once I actually manage to process that this entire painful journey could have been avoided without his mischievousness.

Day 20

I spent so much time sitting in shock yesterday that the demon horse took the opportunity to dump me into the swamp. After informing him that he was the result of his ill-bred mother's incestuous relationship with a goat, I got back on the horse and we set off again. That night, we camped beside the road, near to what appeared to be a ruined city. This, of course, would not be so relevant were it not that the bridge near the city offered an excellent opportunity to cross that bastard of a river that had soaked me so many times before. It was early in the morning that we set off, starting across the still-swollen river.

Naturally, life could not be so simple as that, for the bridge was crumbling and my demon horse fell into the deep, raging river- as well as my foodstuffs, tinderbox, axe, bedroll, blankets, spare clothes and basically all my supplies apart from my sword, knife, shield, waterskin and the clothes I wore on my back.

While I would have been quite happy to kill my horse on some occasions, I never actually wished to do so and certainly not before reaching my destination. And to think, I never actually named the bastardly steed…

Day 21

I have come to the conclusion that either the Valar or Eru Himself hates me. My horse and supplies are gone; I have only a vague idea of where to go; I have no training in the woodcraft of Eriador, which is so much unlike that of Gondor that I have no idea of the herbs even this far north; I am only, by dead reckoning, halfway to my destination; I am still soaked in swamp water and covered in minor injuries.

Basically, things could be worse, but only through direct intervention on the part of a divine being that dislikes me. What have I done to deserve such treatment?

Oh look, Orcs.


	4. Week 4

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 4**

Day 22

There were only three of them, but having just realised how much my life sucks right now, it was less satisfying than slaying my mortal enemies usually is. Later, cleaning the blood off my sword, it occurred to me that I should probably ransack their bodies to attain supplies, and successfully obtained another pair of daggers, to be used for preparing animal traps or hunting- fortunately, I also stole a tinderbox, for raw meat as a diet for the next six weeks did not really appeal to me.

Day 23

Today was fairly uneventful- I spent most of it hoping to encounter some kind of fruitful tree, but discovered none. My waterskin I had filled at the river but food would soon be a more urgent demand- and yet I did not wish to waste the time setting traps to catch meat. Pressing on, the marshy ground became ferny forest and still no food. Without a horse to rest or a bedroll to sleep on, I may as well pick somewhere random to sleep or even just walk through the night. After a tiring day of walking without nourishment, though, I'm just about ready for bed- or what passes for that in these parts. Maybe I'll pick a nice patch of grass…

Day 24

Ran across more orcs and killed them- had to sleep in a tree to be safe.

My back hurts.

Why are there so many bloody orcs in this area? Shouldn't the rangers be taking care of this?

Am considering travelling through the trees to avoid the bastards.

Day 25

Awoke this morning covered in sap and leaves. Am considering intentionally covering myself in the stuff to create camouflage so I can sleep on the ground and actually sleep.

More orcs… at least I ate today. They had some bread and had hunted a water-fowl, which I quickly cooked.

Day 26

Ahhh… finally slept properly last night, on account of not sleeping halfway up a tree. Killed some more orcs, stole their shirts. Used their sewing kit (why did they have one of those? It had pink ribbons and frilly material- have finally encountered something I don't want to know about even more than Faramir's foot fungus problems) and sewed the material together to create a giant poncho, which I have sewed lots of leaves on. With the leaf-hat I created, it is a perfect disguise! Bahahahahahahahahaha!

Day 27

It has occurred to me that disguising myself as a tree and then walking along the road is possibly one of my less clever ideas- therefore, I travel through the brush beside the road. Have affixed a net-like arrangement of fine twigs from my hat, to conceal my face- a band of orcs walked past and didn't even notice me! I slaughtered them, of course, but it's the principle that counts. I have decided to name my outfit the 'camo tent.'

Maybe I could convince the Rangers to dress like this! They could travel in camouflage as a hidden resistance against the invasion of Mordor- we would be assured victory!

We could dig tunnels and use them to travel without the notice of the orcs, popping up only to shoot and disappear- it's genius! I would call it the 'National Front for the Liberation of South Gondor', but we could always shorten that to 'Goncong'…

Now that I've stopped for the night, I realise that Faramir and I may have dreamed for this very reason- to develop this very technology. Mind you, I didn't expect to have to endure this crap…

Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real choice mission, and when it was over, I never wanted another- so next time, Faramir gets it.


	5. Week 5

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 5**

Day 28

I love the smell of dead orc in the morning. It smells like victory. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Where are the bloody rangers? It's Boromir doing all the work right here. Northern Rangers are typically too big for their britches- I defy any Ranger I run into to tell me that they can take care of the place properly. Orcs all over the place, it's really untidy.

While Father's father was still alive, there was a Ranger called Thorongil in the army who was supposedly the heir to the throne; thankfully, he did not press his case or Gondor might be this untidy too. Kings- pah! The last of them fell long ago, and yet despite striving mightily in their stead, my line has never taken the title- my father, despite devoting his whole life to his country and performing feats no other man could achieve, will never be remembered as a king or indeed as rightful ruler- instead, he will be a footnote, a name that only hindered the ascension of the king. He deserves better. Hell, _I_ deserve better- I'm going round like the bloody maid, cleaning up for these supposedly fantastic rangers.

*sigh*

Now I'm annoyed. Where are orcs when you need them? I could go for some righteous smiting right now.

Day 29

This camo tent of mine is really fantastic- because it smells like orc (being made out of their clothes) no orcs smell me and attack- well, until I attack them anyway.

Its times like these that I wish I had some kind of blowpipe- I could kill everybody while hidden, possibly up a tree. You know, the more time I spend trudging beside the road in what I have built up to be a surprisingly bushy camo tent, the more fond I become of trees. I wish I was a monkey, but they don't exist in any part of Middle-earth that I've visited, so I'll just have to hope they're some kind of furry tree-climbing animal.

All this tree climbing and scraping through brush has left me with a bunch of cuts that will probably get infected after a while… I should probably find kingsfoil.

Day 30

Ahh, the soothing balm of kingsfoil… I can finally walk comfortably, without rubbing my cuts against my camo tent. Good thing I could actually identify it properly now, because this much maresbreath in direct contact with my skin would create that particular reaction that I made Faramir swear on Mother's grave to never tell anybody about.

Day …34?

I… I'm not quite sure how this came about, but I awoke surrounded by a mass of orcs, with a peculiar weight on my head. Most of them were lying about, but some were sitting and talking casually, clearly unaware that I lay not more than a metre away in my tent.

I have had many horrible experiences in my life, but the time I spent waiting for them to fall asleep would easily make the top five- I can only be thankful that I did not snore, but then that's more a result of my still-healing nose. Day fast approached, but not fast enough as the balm of what was, in hindsight, clearly maresbreath, still irritated practically my entire body. So itchy!

When they finally dropped off to sleep, I crept away from the camp, deftly avoiding the sentries, and then walked solidly through the day to get away from the group. Finally slowing down enough to pick somewhere to sleep, I discovered that the weight on my head was in fact an orcish helmet- I shrugged, put it back on and went to sleep.

Day 35

I didn't encounter any more orcs after that horrific instance of waking up surrounded. I did, however, keep the helmet- I attached some leaves for hair and some dirt and sap for a face. I think I shall call him Wilfred.


	6. Week 6

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 6**

Day 36

Sleeping in the tree put my back out, but with that massive group of orcs on the loose, I need to stay safe while I rest. I would create some kind of hammock like the pirates of Umbar use, but I simply wouldn't feel comfortable carrying it everywhere with me and I don't know where to find a shoulder-trained parrot at this hour of the day.

Once again, no more orcs- clearly, they're no longer roving in three-orc bands but rather large groups. I think they're ganging up on me- Wilfred agrees.

Day 37

I made a hammock, but it broke when I moved and I fell a good fifteen feet, hitting multiple branches on the way down. Still no orcs, however.

Note to self- find some athelas that is actually athelas and not going to cause a repeat of that incident, when I woke up and had been shanghaied onto a Umbarian Corsair along with Faramir and a Rohirric prostitute with whom I had apparently adopted a hedgehog.

Day 38

I have so far encountered two problems- one, I need to get some proper sleep and two, I need to get some proper food. I can no longer ransack dead orcs for supplies, not having encountered any in surmountable numbers recently, while in the case of my first problem I cannot sleep on the ground safely, lest I never wake up. I could put Wilfred on watch, but he is a product of the enemy and therefore cannot be trusted.

Day 39

With Wilfred watching my back, I trapped a bunch of rabbits in their warren, but this led to yet another problem- now, without pre-cooked food, I must make a fire which would indicate my presence quite clearly to the roving orcs. Instead of deciding immediately, however, I finished off the supplies I have left- I can work it out tomorrow. Wilfred, of course, is quick to point out that if I find an orc campsite with the remnants of a fire, I can safely make one on that spot- I am inclined to agree.

Day 40

Didn't find orc campsite but did manage to find a tree with a large amount of branches forking at the same point- by lodging some sticks in appropriate places, I was able to make a platform on which to make my fire and cook myself some delicious, delicious rabbit meat. By delicious, of course, I mean partially burnt and stringy.

I've decided to sleep in this conveniently-forking tree. Wilfred is apparently going to be my sentry for the night- I've given him one of the orkish blades I pilfered a while back. Hopefully, however, my wonderful camo tent will keep me hidden enough- I personally doubt Wilfred's ability with a blade, what with him being a leaf-covered helmet and all.

Day 41

I suspect that I'm finally getting closer to Imladris- with this, however, come the multiple river crossings I have yet to endure. Today I reached one such place and, after refilling my waterskin, decided I'd be blowed if I wanted to get wet just before the cold of night and encamped up a tree again.

Day 42

Once again, I am cold, wet, covered in tree products and developing a rash. I am reminded unpleasantly of my demon horse and, when Wilfred made an impertinent remark, dropped him into the river to be carried away by the current.

I regret nothing.


	7. Week 7

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 7**

Day 43

Even though I know that I abandoned Wilfred at the river, he seems to dog my steps. It seems that behind every tree is an orc, with Wilfred on its head to egg it on- I begin to fear that he will divulge my sleeping methods to the creatures. Of course, he could simply be trying to get back into my good graces by sending me food rations… I know not his intentions, but fear them all the same. I begin to wonder why I ever trusted that conniving helmet.

Day 44

Once again, I encountered multiple Orcs- but today, some were dead. Even worse was the times when I came across a clearing with only a single helmet sitting on the grass- Wilfred is taunting me. What have I done to ensure such hatred?

Oh, right.

I dropped him into the river.

Day 45

Crossed another river today- my camo tent has served me well yet again, for moments after alighting on the far bank, Orcs moved from the trees on the opposite side- they clearly searched for something, one of them probably having seen me earlier, but none saw me in my excellent camouflage. I begin to wonder if the multitude of Orcs is some device of Wilfred's, for I would swear that I did not encounter so many before befriending the evil thing.

Day 46

Yet more Orcs, now travelling in groups too large for me to kill alone. Upon reflection, this is probably the reason that people travel in groups- of course, they probably also move in groups to avoid that embarrassing moment when all your supplies are lost with your horse and you are forced to steal orc rations to survive, but that's neither here nor there.

Day 47

The trees are now close enough together for me to be able to travel completely above the ground- is this how the wood elves feel _all the time_? The Orcs below appear like ants, yet I move silently above- sweet Eru, the power trip is freaking _amazing_!

More disturbing, however, is the fact that from above, Wilfred stares at me every time the Orcs pass by- I feel watched constantly.

Am currently trying to decide between travel by trees or by ground- by tree, I avoid the orkish patrols but am also haunted by constant observation- all very troubling. I cannot help but wonder what lengths Wilfred will go to in order to revenge himself upon me.

Day 48

I have decided to walk upon the ground in the manner of Men- the elvish power trip was making all kinds of weird ideas appear in my head. Now that I walk, my mind clears and I am reminded of the more sensible results of this journey- finally, I can concentrate on Wilfred's threat and my ambitious plans for the Goncong.

Day 49

Yet another river crossing today, and while shivering in my usual nest up a tree, it occurs to me that Wilfred cannot be planning the things he does, for while he is an orkish helmet he is still a helmet- simply a piece of ill-forged metal. Finally I encounter a single orc and can refresh my supplies- my thoughts become more sane by the hour.

The Goncong are still a good idea, though.


	8. Week 8 Imladris found

_**Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring. **_

**Week 8**

Day 50

I think I'm getting closer to Imladris, finally, for I have seen signs of regular patrols- non-orkish ones, thankfully. With all the river crossings lately, I've decided to start crossing them in my clothes only- I now hold my camo tent above my head with my weapons.

Unfortunately, with signs of increased Man/Elf patrols come less Orcs from which I can steal food- which is a shame, for now I have nobody to interact with in any way- men have gone mad in less time alone in the wilderness.

Day 51

Forded yet another river today- unfortunately, I stepped into a hole and stumbled, losing my grip on my camo tent- it floated away and now my prototype Goncong uniform is lost forever. I seem to be losing all my stuff on rivers these days… I wonder if that's some kind of ill omen, portending my imminent death on or beside a river…

Nah, water just hates me.

Found no more Orcs, just traces of that bloody pipeweed stuff that the Rangers up here love so much.

Day 52

I feel so naked without my camo tent… On the other hand, I found some more campsites today. And more pipeweed. What is it they love so much about the stuff? Is it hallucinogenic or something?

Have selected a good branch and am whittling a pipe while I walk in order to find out.

Day 544444444444444444…..

How do those Rangers manage to smoke this stuff all the time? I can barely lick my elbow properly anymore- let alone speak coherently. Oh, wow, my hands are _so biiiigggg_…. And my face is _soo sooffftt_… You know, you know what would totally be, be a… a great idea? I should totally climb that tree over there and see if I can see Imladris from the top. And then, and then… and then, I could wave and they would send a chopper to get me… yeah… I'm soooo clever…

Eru, this stuff is freaking _fantastic_! It's, it's like, it's like I can _taste_ the birdsong… Oh, the bark feels _so gooooood_… Is this how the Rangers feel _all the time? _Because this is freaking _fantastic!_ Sign me up! Oh wow, my hands are _so big_…

Day 55

Have just remembered that pipeweed is a close relative of the plant maresbreath.

Note to self- avoid pipeweed.

Patrol markers coming much more frequently now- no food left, but must be close.

Day 56

HOLY CRAP, I ACTUALLY FOUND IMLADRIS!

This is so incredibly exciting…

So I met with Elrond, who was pretty much like "WTF are you doing here" so I explained about the dream and he said I must be here for the council. So, there we go. I just spent like a third of a year getting here in order to attend a council that I wasn't invited to.

Next dream can go f*** itself, Faramir's doing it.

Day 56, later…

One of the Elvish patrols coming in said they found a really oddly-decorated helmet and presented it to Elrond while I was there- it was Wilfred. He followed me here…

They're in cahoots with him, I just know it- those drugged-up Rangers, the poncy Elves, the pipsqueak Halflings and probably my horse too.

Whatever this 'Isildur's Bane' thing is, I need to get it away from them ASAP, lest they gain enough power to conquer Middle-Earth.

Wilfred must be stopped, whatever the cost.


End file.
